


After The Island

by Leviusify



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post Island AU, survivor!Wilson, wilson landed in modern times and its not going well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 14:36:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18153152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leviusify/pseuds/Leviusify
Summary: After fighting through the fiery pits of the forge, appeasing a wyrm god, Wilson has landed back in the modern times. Out modern times. Things aren't going well.





	After The Island

Wilson awoke in a cold sweat, as he had been doing on and off again ever since he had gotten back from the island. He sighed and rolled over in bed once again, seeing out of the only eye that still worked. He still remembered the incident as clear as day, a hound attack that had gone terribly, terribly, wrong. He had found the island occupying more and more of his memories ever since he returned home, strangely enough as a better, more familiar place. The theorems about time displacement he had constructed during his stay on the island were wildly misconstrued. The year is two thousand nineteen. Wilson P Higgsbury is officially the oldest man alive. If he didn't have a reason to stay cooped up in his home back before the island, he sure did now. The outside world was a scary place, moreover than before. In his prior days he was an advocate of progress and would've jumped with joy if he heard that humanity would've reached such technological heights. But now, Wilson was scared of what the world had become. The people have changed, Wilson was expected to have a thousand "mini-gadgets" and the people around him seemed to have dropped every single moral value available. Wilson was thoroughly depressed when he realized that he sounded like his grandfather, and decided to keep his opinions brewing in a corner of his mind. Wilson stared up at the ceiling. The fan rotated around and around as his thoughts wandered back to her. He closed his eyes, hard, in some futile attempt to suppress the thoughts, but he couldn't keep them out. He remembered the firepit, he remembered all of their talks, how the contents of their minds drifted out of their mouths and he remembered her giggle as he told another crummy joke like it was yesterday. He remembered the deerclops. He remembered the deerclops. He remembered all the promises he made her as his hand brushed over hers, such a small, small gesture that meant so much. Preparation. Why wasn't he prepared? He remembered all the time he spent with her. The deaths... The effigies. The meat effigies. Every time he came back he felt a bit more disoriented, that he could remember. The effigies. Why didn't he have enough? All he needed was one. Why wasn't he prepared. It was his fault. It had to be. Whose else was it? The touchstones were all gone, how could have he done this poorly-

Wilson snapped out of his self made trance with a silent gasp. He needed to stop thinking about it. He had to. But no matter how hard he tried, his mind kept wandering. Wilson turned over in bed and went back to sleep.

 

Wilson tried his hardest, yet still couldn't remember how many years it had been since he had an actual job. He worked independently, in his field of research, but now? That resume was useless. He didn't know where his family was, or their bank. He had been reduced to square one, yet this time it seemed somehow even worse. He wore a brightly colored work uniform as he worked a job which required zero experience. He put another mental tally on how many times a child had pointed at his medical covering (elegantly titled eyepatch by said children) as he scanned another item. At least all the new and interesting devices entertained him as he worked through the day. He had decided to to keep mostly quiet during his work hours as his "accent" (he had to adjust to the fact that he was now "imitating old time English") was quite offputting to most people and his choice of wardrobe had to be updated as well. As Wilson zoned out, he realized how cynical he had become. When was the last time he had cracked wise? All he did nowadays was sit and roll his eyes at every newfangled thing he didn't yet comprehend. The last time he had stuck his tongue out at somebody was probably when he was with her-  
No. He was fine as he is. He was doing just fine as he is. He just had no friends, was a social recluse living from paycheck to paycheck without a real understanding of modern technology, nor a modern education, and blind in one eye. Maybe there were things Wilson could improve upon. So, that day, Wilson decided he would do something fun. He would have fun tonight. He would do something that made him smile. Maybe a party. A movie. He did enjoy those. A night out at a fancy restaurant. Whatever it was, Wilson would finally have a night where he could pretend he fit in with this new world. Well, maybe tomorrow. He could prepare more.

Wilson walked out of the stadium, a smile on his face. Throughout all the trials and tribulations that time held, a classic game of ball never failed to amuse. Although Wilson wasn't exactly much of a sports person, he enjoyed seeing something that reminded him of his past. The cold night air swept across his stubble covered face as he stepped into the parking lot. He tightened his scarf as he began to walk away, positive thoughts in his head. He walked outside of the crowds as they flooded out, and stayed back a bit to avoid the hassle. He took in the sights of this unfamiliar place he had somehow grown up in, until he saw a not out of the ordinary sight around these parts: a beggar. Wilson had always been a kind soul, and started walking towards them. As he drew closer, a familiar, fluttery voice came out of them.   
"Spare some change, sir?"  
Time stopped. For just that moment, those few seconds, time really stopped. Without knowing what he was doing, he ran over. The beggar was immediately surprised, their tone of voice immediately changing.  
"Hey creep, what do you think you're doing-'  
They were cut off as he dropped to one knee in front of her.  
He looked over her, the memory of claw cutting flesh deep and of sorrow filled rage.  
She started kicking her legs to get to her feet for a second before stopping.   
For a second, Wilson stopped looking at her to think about himself. He had to look like a mess, disheveled hair, uncontrolled stubble, bagged eyes, but he couldn't have looked worse than her. Sitting outside in the cold, ragged clothes, but her pale face still managed to retain it's beauty.  
They were like this for a moment, staring at each other, eyes doting around, taking in each and every separate detail.

"It's you."

**Author's Note:**

> hey dudes this is my first fanfiction don't kill me please


End file.
